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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802697">Sunfury Willing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heeshura/pseuds/SHIBUIKING'>SHIBUIKING (Heeshura)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>World of Warcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>...illidad?, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, dad illidan, typical demon hunter stuff u know the deal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:55:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heeshura/pseuds/SHIBUIKING</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>small things ive written about my demon hunter oc, feonis sunfury (aka cheesestring), an illidari who lost his memory after becoming a dh<br/>the setting switches between past (before arthas' attack, outland) and 'present' (roughly after legion)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Belath Dawnblade/Original Male Character(s), Illidari &amp; Illidan Stormrage, Kayn Sunfury/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank u for ur curiosity! i love my boy to pieces. i draw illidari and belf stuff, and ofc my boy, on my<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/DEATH_MAGNETICA">twitter</a> and if u just want art without any chatter then check <a href="https://shibuiking.tumblr.com/">my art tumblr</a><br/>thank u 🤭💖</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The scent of rotting flesh and sizzling magical energy was not strange to Feonis. It clings to his nostrils, unwanted and uncaring. The pain in his side shouldn’t have bothered him either. The slow seep of his warm blood onto the stone below was a feeling very well known to him. The screams of civilians and children rend the air, doing nothing for his headache, he dimly thinks. He should be able to see, he realises, but there is only darkness, the sounds of terror, and the feeling of death drawing closer. There’s a part of himself that is panicking but it cannot get past the apathetic shroud over his mind, as if he’s watching it happen to himself in a scryed vision or reading about it in a book. Silvermoon is falling, and he cannot bring himself to care. <br/>One of the marching scourge monsters notices his tiny pained whimpers. It looks at him curiously and slowly moves towards him, its slow shambling transforming into a four legged hobble and then into the prowl of an animal on the hunt. Feonis hears only the disjointed footsteps and feels the magical signature transform from one foul school into another. The creature opens its mouth, with far too many teeth, and clamps down his leg. He wheezes. The pain stabs through the disconnect he had been feeling and firmly anchors him back to the world of the living, the sawblades in the creature’s mouth tearing through his flesh down to the bone. His vision seems to return through the agony he’s beginning to register, and he sees this is no member of the scourge, but a demon. Felhound. <br/>“I don’t make a good snack, boy.” He manages to cough out, blood splattering on his stomach and hands. “Never was good with magic.”<br/>It stops chewing on the bone of his leg and looks directly at him, a queer grin on its ugly face. He’s not sure how on earth it can summon up such an expression and doesn’t get much time to ponder on it before it returns to gnawing. He faintly registers one of its tentacles hovering near his face and his consciousness fades into darkness.</p><p>The darkness doesn’t fade when he reawakens. He sits up. Moving his head around he sees the magical traces that form the room around him, dim little wiggling lights in his vision that form the world he sees. Traces from the wine of last night, embers of the fireplace, the patrons of the inn on the floor below and people resting in their respective rooms across from him. His spectral sight had always been paces behind the rest of his Illidari siblings, for the auras of people below obscured his vision and left him with very little awareness of the room he’s actually in. Orcish architecture always left him feeling a little disoriented, unlike Elvish constructions that radiated traces of magic so clearly that it was if he still had physical eyes. He fumbles in the dazzling lights, getting his bearings, and casts his legs off the side of the bed with telltale grogginess. A bad dream, he figures, but as usual he does not remember. He’s not very good at that. There’s a faint growling in his head that sounds amused. He resists the urge to smack his foot into the side of a bedpost, no matter how satisfying it would be to feel like he got one over on the entity in his head. <br/>There was simply nothing for it. He sniffs out his clothing and boldly, yet blindly, strides over to the door, only smacking half of his face into the door this time, and leaves to face another day in Orgrimmar.</p><p>—</p><p>The beauty of Eversong endures. Even without eyes, Feonis can feel the truth of this. The feel of the grass and dirt between his toes, gentle in the way it gives beneath his heels, the callouses on them numbing any pain. The earthy smell combining with the faint scent of magic, both fel and arcane. He wonders if regular elves can smell it the same way he does. The loss of his eyesight elevates his senses beyond normal, Illidan told him. Of course, he has nothing to compare it to. Though the scent of fresh blooms overpowers all at times and causes his sensitive nose to itch, but this is a minor slight in the scope of its majesty. Though this was once his home, Kayn and Belath had told him, he does not meet it with nostalgia, but rather a peculiar feeling of longing and rightness.<br/>Their chaperone had left him alone for a while, not far off of course, merely in the room below, whilst he lounges on the plush cushions carefully placed upon this raised nook. The sun gently holds him in its gaze, and for this he is grateful. Under its warmth he feels almost whole. His body is relaxed for once, the demon in his head quiet. <br/>Sunfury, they call him. With contempt. He’s not sure quite what prompts it. Kayn and the other blood elven illidari rarely speak of their shared past, and Feonis has never really asked. He understands that the ring he bears around his neck has some significance to this, and that the past left some kind of jagged ugly scar across their hearts, but he does not understand why this scar is shared with the blood elves of Quel’thalas, so far from Outland. There is much he does not understand. <br/>The peace this place has brought him has also robbed him of his awareness, he dimly notices as the lights that represent other people slowly blur back into his vision. He hadn’t even realised he was laying in darkness. </p><p>“Demon Hunter.” His chaperone regards him darkly. Not for the first time, Feonis wonders what expression the elf has on his face. Sometimes he is allowed the privilege of touching another’s face to map them out in his head.<br/>He hums softly in response. He doesn’t want to move.<br/>“I have… a personal question.”</p><p>If Feonis had eyes, they would be opened wide. He rolls onto his side, facing the direction of the elf’s aura, the sound of his voice. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, prompting the elf to continue.</p><p>“Why did you do it?” The voice is full of sorrow. Something inside Feonis feels strange upon hearing it.</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>“Become a demon.”</p><p>“I don’t know.” He responds conversationally, it’s not the first time he’s been asked. He knows what the response will be as well.</p><p>“You don’t- What?” From the wiggling of his aura, he seems to be doing some hand gestures, but Feonis is still too groggy and relaxed to focus his sight enough to ‘see’ properly.</p><p>“I don’t remember anything from before.”</p><p>“Oh.” The response stuns the elf into silence for a few seconds. “Is it like that for all of you?”</p><p>Feonis barks out a laugh. “Not at all. They all cling to it rather zealously.” He curls up on the pillows and gets into a comfier position. “How else would they have the will to continue this endless war?”</p><p>“What about you, then? How do you have the will?”</p><p>“They do it for vengeance. I do it for love.”</p><p>—</p><p>He sees Illidan in fitful dreams sometimes. The lingering feeling it always leaves behind after he wakes tells him who the dream was about. Their lord’s, his lord’s, towering body obscuring his vision in an explosion of light. The only time he feels truly safe, held near the wide sweep of his wings, his razor sharp claws, voice dripping with barely restrained anger. Nothing in all the worlds he’s visited feels so secure and familiar. It’s love, he knows, despite everything. It’s gentle in the face of all that they are; violent, desperate, monstrous. No amount of tempting will ever pull him from his lord’s side, there’s nothing the demon inside him could ever use to convince him to betray, like his lord has been betrayed so many times before. The truth cannot sway him. He will blind his eyes in the light, and follow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Kayn.” Feonis sends a sharp foot out to meet shin and instead meets only thigh, and a glare. <br/>“Kayn. Kayn.”</p>
<p>A sigh. “What.”</p>
<p>“Kayn.”</p>
<p>The look on his face at this point was as potent as an eye beam, even with his lame spectral sight Feonis can sense this.<br/>“Can you shut up for once in your wretched life?”</p>
<p>“Nuh-uh. You know me better than that.”<br/>Both Sunfurys are seated on the cushions strewn about the floor of a small room they’d discovered on the Fel Hammer. There were a few of them hidden about, and most had been ‘claimed’ by various Illidari already. Privacy was a rare luxury for them. A luxury that not everyone treasured as much as others, Feonis being one of them.<br/>Despite what he might say, he knows Kayn doesn’t truly mind. Much. The three of them, Kayn, Belath, and Feonis, all go back too far for that. Though Belath had known him longer, he and Kayn had spent the harsh days at the Black Temple huddled together.<br/>“What’s up?”</p>
<p>Kayn gives him one last withering look and leans back, far enough that he falls onto the cushions below, half sitting, half lying down. Feonis isn’t able to see the way his mouth opens and closes, like a gaping fish, but the pause tells him enough anyway. He reaches out for Kayn’s leg, ends up grasping at his thigh blindly, and pulls himself over. He drapes himself over Kayn’s lap. <br/>The contact, it seems, is enough to pry open his mouth.<br/>“Lord Illidan...”<br/>It’s not like he has to say anything else. His meaning makes immediate sense. They’d only just gotten him back before he’d been taken away once more.<br/>“I hate being this sentimental.”</p>
<p>“It’s not a bad thing is it?”</p>
<p>“Kind of.”</p>
<p>“I dunno. Isn’t it out of sentiment that we fight anyway?”</p>
<p>A quiet breath of air leaves Kayn’s lips in lieu of a response. It seems to have caught him off guard. Feonis turns over in Kayn’s lap and pushes his face against the hard abdomen.</p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s silly, everyone here feels the same way. Even if they don’t say it. We’re still people, right?”</p>
<p>“I guess.” The curt response ends the conversation, but not in a brooding manner. Rather, the silence is comfortable, familiar. Whatever thoughts lie swirling in Kayn’s head are his alone, Feonis can prod and tease out details but in the end it’s only out of a desire to ease his melancholy. He’s obtuse and slow, but not entirely stupid. At least, not when it comes to his dearest friends.<br/>Kayn’s legs untangle from the cross legged position he’d been in and he relaxes fully, moving his arms to drape loosely around Feonis’ shoulders. Not for the first time he wonders if Feonis truly did forget their time together at Tempest Keep and the Black Temple. It’s as if he never lost his friend in the first place, the way they fall together seamlessly every time. As if somewhere deep inside him, he instinctively remembers the nature of their friendship. <br/>Kayn is grateful.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>Kayn lies shivering on the cold floors of his room in the Black Temple. They’d all been given one to recover in while their spectral sight awakened and they acclimated to life after the ritual. Broken healers pace around outside, ready to attend to any reckless mistakes like the one he’d just made. He keeps his pained breaths quiet. He could die from this if left alone, but the blow to his pride is too great to ask for help. The ritual had been horrific. He was out of his right mind when he’d taken his freshly grown claws to the sides of his chest, but he refused to believe there were those with the mental fortitude to resist doing something stupid. He knew even Lord Illidan himself had struggled, the only fact that now gives him hope.</p>
<p>“Weak… You are too weak to be of use to him.” The voice inside his head will not be silenced. He sobs.<br/>He’d killed and eaten the flesh of this demon. Gorged himself on its heart and drank its blood. Yet still it tormented him, fused with the very essence of his soul, intimate in a way he’d never dreamed of. He’s well aware of the symbolism. No matter what he ever did, the legion would still march. Undying, unchanging, unwavering. It’s too much for him to bear. To fail Lord Illidan in this manner…<br/>“The legion can make you strong.” Kayn claws at his face in desperation. “Our master will love you.”</p>
<p>It doesn’t get to say anything else before the door to his room is slowly opened, leaving a small gap that a slim blood elf slips through. Kayn sees only the wiggling shapes of the elf’s aura, and hears the door being quietly closed again. Whoever it is has taken care not to alert the healers, and for this he is thankful. He breathes out, pain lacing the noise. He’s too tired to fight against his pride now.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” The elf crawls over, having dropped to his hands and knees the second he’d closed the door, making for the most bizarre sight Kayn had ever ‘seen’. If he’d been any more lucid, he would’ve stopped the quirk of his mouth upon seeing the wiggling blob of light slide across the floor. <br/>“Stupid question probably.” The elf lets out a little laugh, but it sounds as broken as Kayn feels. “I… Can I touch you? I can’t see.”</p>
<p>Kayn didn’t have it in him to respond, so he inclines his head, and then realises dumbly that the elf wouldn’t be able to see. He reaches out instead towards that messy aura of light, grasping some part of the elf’s body. An arm? A forearm. The elf gets the meaning of the gesture and leans forward, groping as blindly as Kayn had moments ago. He feels rough hands on his shoulders, dried blood encrusted on bandages that were wrapped around the elf’s wrists. It’s the first physical contact he’d felt in days and he can’t deny how good it felt, rather pathetically.<br/>The hands wander up to his face, pushing his long shaggy hair away over his shoulders. They map out his face curiously, gentle thumb pads brushing across his nose, his empty eye sockets, and resting near the raised bleeding skin of his cheek.<br/>“Oh. That’s not good.” The elf croaks out but doesn’t linger. Moments later he feels something brush against the wound, making him wince. It feels a little scratchy, but he realises it’s a cloth or some kind of rag. Perhaps part of a bandage. The elf dabs it a little and leaves it there. It probably won’t help much but Kayn recognises the attempt.</p>
<p>“Who are you?” He finally manages to say. His voice is a wreck. Worse than the other elf’s.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I don’t know where I am, or why I’m here.” He sounds a little lost. “I woke up here yesterday with no sight and something growling in my head. Those weird looking monsters outside healed me and then left.” He pauses to wet his lips. A strange sound that Kayn would not have picked up on before, but his hypersensitive ears can hear it clearly now.<br/>“All I have is a ring.”</p>
<p>Kayn has a feeling he knows what it is. “Can I see?” </p>
<p>“Huh? Sure...” There’s a strange sound as he assumes the stranger takes it off. The elf pats at his shoulders again, finding his upper arms and working his way down until he’s grasping at Kayn’s hand. He places the ring inside his palm. Kayn recognises it immediately. Even without sight he could never mistake it. The placement of the small jewels he knows to be red, the golden band they’re placed onto. </p>
<p>“A Sunfury signet ring.”</p>
<p>“Sunfury?”</p>
<p>Kayn falls silent. He clenches the ring in his hand and feels it brush against the one he wears as well. He’d curl up in a ball if it wouldn’t aggravate his wounds.</p>
<p>The other elf seems to remember this at the same time he does. “Well, that can wait I think. It would suck if you bled out whilst trying to tell me.”</p>
<p>Dread pools in Kayn’s stomach as realisation dawns on him slowly. He recognises that voice. The elf’s hands are as changed as his own are, but those are hands he’s felt many times before. The matching rings. Whilst most blood elves following Lord Illidan shared the rings, or at least were once part of the Sunfury, there was only one that spoke with that voice. To confirm it fully, he reaches out to where he assumes the other elf’s head would be. His hand lands somewhere between his cheek and his nose.The elf makes a confused noise but doesn’t stop him, even though his face twists into what feels like worry at the sharp intakes of breath Kayn is making as the movement jostles his wounds. Kayn winds his hands into the elf’s hair. It’s untied from its usual style, but he knows it’s him. He knows the hair is blonde. It falls on either side of his face, down to his chin, and flows down his back and shoulders freely. The uneven layers of it make it feel as fluffy as he remembers it looking.</p>
<p>“Feonis...”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“That’s your name.”</p>
<p>The elf does not respond. Kayn drags himself closer and wraps his arms around his shoulders, holding them together close. The grief hits him all at once, and he can’t stop the sobbing this time. The stress of the ritual, the pain, the truth of the voice in his head, disgust at the horns and scales that had grown, the loss of his sight, fear of darkness, and the knowledge that he’d just lost his best friend. It crashes down on him like a wave. He clings to the elf like a lifeline, and feels unsteady arms wrap around him. He feels the uneven breaths coming from the elf’s lungs. He feels the face buried into his shoulder, mirroring his own.</p>
<p>The broken healers burst into the room at some point, finally having heard the two weeping on each other. They seem to know better than to keep them apart while tending to Kayn’s wounds. He’s terrified that news of his weak, pathetic, demeanor will make its way back to Lord Illidan, but the floodgates being opened for the first time in what might be his whole life feels too cathartic for him to care.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What can you do in the face of such blinding loyalty and love... he does not belong to you, you do not belong to yourself. You are only his... only Illidan's. <br/>Moving ever forward down the path he laid down for you, knowing that at the end lies only death. Never victory. </p>
<p>—</p>
<p>He doesn’t know what caused him to become a demon hunter. He doesn’t know what caused him to become a Sunfury. Why was he in Outland to begin with? Why didn’t he stay in Silvermoon? He can guess, obviously, with more informed input from other sin’dorei Illidari, but it’s not the same. He can’t feel the same emotions, come to the same conclusions. He will never know why he did these things. The person he used to be is intangible. Even if he was told word for word every event that happened in his life that led to that fateful moment, he would not understand.<br/>Yet as he looks around, taking in the gaunt faces of his Illidari siblings, he knows he would make the same choice. </p>
<p>—</p>
<p>“My mother’s gonna find us.”</p>
<p>“It’ll be fine!”</p>
<p>Feonis huffs but doesn’t move to push Belath away as he inches closer, crowding into his space, he feels his back hit the old desk. The dust it kicks up brings a sneeze, he quickly turns his head away and into his elbow.</p>
<p>“Bless you.” Belath laughs, a little breathlessly. “You’re that worried, but you’re gonna be the one getting us found out.”</p>
<p>“Shut up.” He sniffs. The old attic isn’t doing wonders for his allergies, but it was Belath’s bright idea to sneak up here for some fun. Apparently he’d gotten bored of canoodling in the woods and Feonis can hardly blame him. So here they are.<br/>Belath leans forward again with a teasing, yet nervous, smile on his face. It’s not the first time they’ve done this but his youthful inexperience comes to bear each time, rather endearingly. It’s as if they’re doing something forbidden and he’s overcome with the heady rush that comes with breaking the rules. Which is nonsense. <br/>Their lips finally meet. Despite Belath’s apparent nervousness, his enthusiasm soon takes over. Feonis’ back is slowly bent further backwards over the desk as Belath assaults him with the energy of a dog whose master just came home. It’s all he can really do to just let it happen, artlessly and without grace. He can’t really mind it much, not from him. When they part, Feonis is halfway laid down over the desk and half stood up, his back screams in protest. Belath is shorter than him, despite having grown like a weed in recent years, but now they stand as opposites, Feonis looking meekly up into his friend’s fiery blue eyes. He lets out an amused huff and pushes Belath away, ignoring the confused noise he makes, and seating himself on the desk properly. Now he’s looking down at him again.</p>
<p>“You can’t let me have that for one minute?”</p>
<p>“You try bending like that, see how you like it.”</p>
<p>“I’ll bet you a good amount of silver that I could.”</p>
<p>Feonis pulls a face. He probably could. “Shut up, ferret.”</p>
<p>Belath laughs and takes his place back between Feonis’ legs, pecking his lips lightly. A palate cleanser before the meal, if one felt like waxing poetic about the no doubt pathetic display of fumbling affection. Which he might! He might. He closes his eyes and leans in, meeting Belath halfway into another kiss. Slightly more tempered this time thankfully. He threads a hand through Belath’s spiky blonde hair, the ferret comparison has more merit than just his acrobatics, it’s smooth and sleek, perfect for grabbing and hauling him away from things he should not be touching. Not this time, Feonis thinks, but there’ll always be a chance later. He closes his eyes and leans into the kiss fully, running his hands along the back of Belath’s hair and his jaw. The hands resting on his own thighs tighten slightly in response and run their way up to his hips slowly. <br/>Feonis stills suddenly, pulling away.</p>
<p>Belath pouts. “Wh-” Feonis puts a hand over his mouth before he can finish, and puts his other hand around his ear. Belath gets the message.<br/>Soft footsteps can be heard below them. They stop at the bottom of the attic hatch and the person below knocks on it.</p>
<p>“Boys? I know you’re in there!”</p>
<p>Belath grimaces. Feonis holds his head in his hands. It’s a small blessing that his mother has a sense of privacy but the knowledge that she knows what they were doing, for sure, still galls him.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’re very busy but I can’t imagine it’s more important than showing up for training!” She huffs, it sounds strange when muffled through the hatch door. “Honestly you’d think you two were doing this against your will.”</p>
<p>She’s talking about Farstrider training, of course. He’d never be one to skip normally but Belath is a bad influence and he knows it.<br/>“Sorry mum, we’re coming.” He calls down.</p>
<p>“You’d better! You’ll have plenty of time for messing around later.”</p>
<p>Feonis raises his head and gives a meek smile. Belath giggles and doesn’t look apologetic in the least. Though he’s hardly the only one at fault here. He’s sure that one day Belath’s influence will get them both somewhere very bad very fast, but that was neither here nor there. He shakes his head and leans in for another kiss, short and sweet this time, wrapping his arms around Belath and resting his head on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“You don’t seem in a hurry.”</p>
<p>“Be quiet, you’re ruining it.”</p>
<p>“That’s my thing, that’s what I do!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i drew <a href="https://twitter.com/DEATH_MAGNETICA/status/1313086008779571204">sumthin</a> of kayn+cheeseboy to accompany the last chapter</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It doesn't take long for their old rapport to quickly reestablish. Their assigned rooms are nothing more than a formality anyway, for all the new demon hunters, not just Kayn and Feonis. Kayn ever hovers at Illidan's side. Their master spends a lot of time with them, training and imparting the knowledge of a legendary sorcerer and pioneer in the field of demon slaughtering. Feonis often thought it strange that he should take so much time away from his own plans, from his insistent sin'dorei council, and away from the growing tensions with the Horde and the Alliance starting to take their first tender steps into Outland. Not that he was any expert on the no doubt intricate politics of their master's inner circle. They were far removed from any such thing, jealously hidden away in the Black Temple, like a treasured prize. Maybe that simply is what they are. It’s not like Feonis would even mind. None of them would. They are all his to use.<br/>It’s not all fighting though. He’s come to wonder that if somehow, Illidan takes as much solace in their presence as they do his. It’s not his place to wonder such things but even the slight possibility warms him. At the very least, he hopes some small part of Kayn’s endless devotion is reciprocated.</p><p>He stretches out, shifting and recurling back into a loose ball on the dirty sheets in Kayn’s room. Somehow even the creature growling in his head is pacified when he inhales deeply and takes in the scent of dried blood and sweat. He wonders if the old him would’ve found it foul, but the creature he’s become now only revels in it, knowing it’s the scent of Kayn and putting his mind at ease. His demon is a simple being. Unlike the things he hears from other Illidari experiences, he can almost get along with it some days. Others it’s like sandpaper in his head, constant hissing and noise making, flashes of emotions he does not want to feel, visions he does not want to see. It rarely speaks to him. In the end, it is what it is, he reasons. They are both mere animals now. A feeling only exacerbated by constant waiting. He should really be out there too. Time spent with their master was precious, training or no, but Feonis cannot bring himself to move. So he waits.</p><p>He wakes later to the sound of shifting near him. Even without ‘opening’ his eyes and focusing his sight, he can see and recognise the light next to him. Their master’s aura is often overwhelming. Almost a tangible manifestation of his overbearing presence, beyond just his towering body. Illidan sits next to him on the bed, reaching out and touching his feet lightly, letting Feonis know that he’s there. A polite gesture made entirely unnecessary just by the fact that it’s him. <br/>He uncurls himself slowly, groggy with sleep, and reaches out. He’s not awake enough to see properly and instead blindly lays his hand upon Illidan’s thigh, the intended target. He hauls himself over their master’s lap. A huge clawed hand comes to rest on his head and Feonis feels the most intense wave of calm he’s ever felt in his life. Admittedly short as it may be, with no memory to fall back on. Illidan shifts, lifting him up gently and repositioning himself so he’s sat cross legged, and places Feonis back on his lap. His small sin’dorei frame fits perfectly in the crook of his legs. The hand returns to his head and begins to pet his hair slowly. If Feonis could purr, he had no doubt that he would be. The demon inside him preens under the undivided attention of the stronger demon.<br/>The master has no words for him, so he offers none back. No doubt he’d merely been curious over his absence today, but the attention means more to him than he could ever put into words to begin with. The hand runs down his head, smoothing out the long messy hair trailing down his back. Feonis moves his own hands to cushion his head against Illidan’s thigh. In a different mood, he might find himself jealous of the thick muscle under his fingers, but today he feels only appreciation.</p><p>“Perhaps we should get you a hair tie.” His master’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet and doesn’t disturb the atmosphere he’d created. Feonis hums in response. Illidan continues to pet his boneless, relaxed body, perhaps amused by the way he’d melted into his lap.</p><p>Kayn pads in not much later. Feonis has learned to pick out his aura by now, though he still relied mostly on scent.<br/>“My Lord!” His voice cuts sharply through the room, thick with surprise. He opens his mouth to speak again but closes it after taking in what was happening. Feonis doesn’t see the curious expression on his face, but Illidan does and puts a finger in front of his mouth, wordlessly telling him to be quiet. The hand on Feonis doesn’t stop its ministrations, he raises the other and motions for Kayn to come closer. Kayn obeys.<br/>Feonis feels the bed dip as Kayn sits next to Illidan, looking up expectantly.</p><p>“You need one as well don’t you?”</p><p>“My Lord?”</p><p>“Hair ties. You blood elves and your silky long hair.” His voice is teasing.</p><p>Kayn has the gall to look offended. “With all due respect, master, you can hardly talk.”</p><p>Illidan laughs and pats Kayn on the head. His face is somewhere between embarrassment and pride. Feonis reaches out for Kayn, not caring that his hand bumps into Illidan’s arm before it makes its way to Kayn’s. His friend gets the point anyway, though seems reluctant to oblige and moves closer with a huff. He rests his head on Illidan’s thigh and holds Feonis’ hand gently in both of his own. Eventually, Kayn allows himself to fully relax. Ever quick to acquiesce to his master’s desires. Feonis smiles lazily.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They still aren’t allowed around Quel’thalas without babysitters, Feonis grouses to himself, and then grouses out loud directly at the poor Farstrider bastard who’d been assigned to the job. A crease appears on the other elf’s brow but at this point he feels like he’s heard it all, he feels nothing but jealousy at the other ‘minders’ who had been assigned to the small group of kaldorei or the sin’dorei women, or even the other sin’dorei man who looked as if he’d keep his mouth shut at least. <br/>At the fuss kicked up by his fellow, the other blond demon hunter piped up as well, like a chorus of dogs who couldn’t help but howl after one of them started.</p><p>“I know the way to the city like the back of my hand! We don’t need a chaperone!”</p><p>“We used to live here you know. You know that right?”</p><p>“Yeah are you stupid or what?”</p><p>“And we’re the ones without eyes!”</p><p>Ranger Degolien sighs once more. “I already told you insufferable fools that this was not my idea, but I’m beginning to see the wisdom in not letting you off a tight leash.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” The shorter haired one pipes up. Belath Dawnblade, if he remembers correctly. He’d winced when he’d heard he was to escort one of the Sunfurys and a Dawnblade, the scars left by their wayward prince never would fully heal, he thinks. He turns to look at the Illidari properly. Not for the first time he looks at him and the noticeable absence of horns is jarring, it makes him realise that they aren’t so different really. It’s uncomfortable.</p><p>“I’m willing to bet you two used to be the terror of the rangers. I’m assuming that’s what you were, I mean.” He mutters the next part under his breath. “Too stupid to be mages.”</p><p>“Powerful intuition, this one possesses!” The longer haired elf flourishes his arms and speaks in a mocking voice that reminds Degolien of the pandaren ambassadors. His eyebrow twitches.</p><p>“What was your name again, Sunfury?”</p><p>“Feo.” He chirps with a smile on his face. </p><p>“We have way cuter nicknames for him though.” Belath pipes up.</p><p>Degolien brushes down the urge to bluntly tell them he doesn’t care and instead goes for a safer, “Well then. Feo, Belath, please shut the fuck up.” </p><p>The pair are stunned into silence but it regrettably doesn’t last long.</p><p>“Haaaaaah, is that any way to speak to a war hero?”</p><p>“We were defenders of Silvermoon, you know. Still are!”</p><p>They crowd around him, pushing into his space with the intent to threaten, which by all rights they should be but Degolien can’t stop thinking about how Feonis’ tiny horns don’t even add to his height enough to make him seem taller. They’re actually both shorter than he is.</p><p>“You tryna start somethin’?”</p><p>“We’ll pound you into dust!”</p><p>It seems their incessant crowing hadn’t gone unnoticed and another demon hunter came bounding over. Elves typically tended to move with a flow lacked by other races, but the demon hunters were on a level of their own. It’s hard not to admire, even as said hunter slinks over with what seems to be barely contained fury. Sunfury, Degolien dimly thinks.</p><p>“Kayn!” Feonis’ face lights up mere seconds before the third demon hunter gets close enough to slam the pair’s heads together. The noise makes Degolien cringe.</p><p>“What the hell is wrong with you two?”</p><p>Belath groans, holding his head in pain. Feonis falls to the floor clutching at his ear which seems to have gotten trapped between their skulls during the hit. Degolien tries hard not to think about it in case he starts feeling phantom pains in his own, terribly sensitive as all elven ears are.</p><p>“Nothing, until you did that!”</p><p>“I could hear you both a mile away!” Kayn’s voice pitches towards a roar. This is as terrifying as a demon hunter is truly meant to be.</p><p>Two more figures emerge from the trees, another sin’dorei demon hunter and the ranger assigned to escort them both. The demon hunter looks a little nervous, and the ranger downright terrified.</p><p>“You can’t be satisfied with this either, right? Why do we have to have babysitters in our own City? Our own forest? We grew up here!” Feonis growls back. Literally growls. Degolien slowly slides his way out from behind the three and over to the two peeking out from the trees, concerned that this is going to get hairy.</p><p>“It’s our city no longer, surely you can see that.” Kayn’s voice is cold, hard.</p><p>“Everything we’ve done, we did for Silvermoon!”</p><p>“You, maybe. Not I.”</p><p>“You did at first too.” Feonis levels a hard stare at Kayn from his seat on the grass. </p><p>Belath sits down next to him. “He’s right, Kayn. This is our home.”</p><p>“We are Illidari, our home is where our lord is.”</p><p>“And he’s gone.” Belath’s voice is barely more than a whisper. A sad noise comes from Degolien’s side and he sees the fourth demon hunter, Tylos Darksight, his brain finally supplies, wearing a baleful expression under his blindfold. He looks at the other ranger and suddenly they both feel very out of place. They’d known that this job wasn’t going to go smoothly, but somehow this raw emotion wasn’t the way they’d expected it to get messy. Violence, they’d expected. Not what looked to be the emotional equivalent of ripping a bandage off. </p><p>“We were stupid to come back.” Kayn stalks off into the woods, the anger clear in his stride. Degolien knows that either he or the other ranger should follow after but neither moves to do so. </p><p>“...Sorry. That you had to see that.” The demon hunter at their side speaks up. Tylos is wringing his hands in distress. “It’s a little hard for some of us.”</p><p>Degolien can’t even imagine. </p><p>—</p><p>“Don’t worry too much about what happened.”</p><p>The rest of the walk to Silvermoon had been somber; Tylos was still wringing his hands, Belath was uncharacteristically quiet, Feonis had stalked on ahead and walked in front of the group, and the two rangers trailed behind. Degolien had wanted to call out to Feonis and remind him of their role but he hadn’t the heart, the incident had humanised them in a way. Regretfully, he thinks to himself, as he had absolutely no desire to get further entangled in this mess.</p><p>“Forgive me if that’s a little hard to do when your brother just stormed off looking like he was going to burn the whole forest down.”</p><p>Feonis grins. “He’s always like that! He takes things a little hard and a little too personally, but I think it’s cute.”</p><p>“Do you now...”</p><p>They scale the stairs to the side of Silvermoon’s entrance and stop in front of the statue. Feonis has a thoughtful expression.</p><p>“Hey Tylos.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Who is this? I can’t quite… make it out.”</p><p>The comment strikes Degolien as odd, but he says nothing. </p><p>“The statue? Th- Ah.” He shifts his weight between his feet. “That’s Prince Kael’thas. We told you about him right?”</p><p>“Ohhh that’s the guy we followed into Outland.” Feonis makes a humming noise. “Wish it wasn’t so tall so I could touch his face, I wonder what he looks like.”</p><p>“Can’t you see?” Degolien is too curious to let this slide.</p><p>“Not well enough. Tylos is the best at seeing things out of all of us, that’s why we call him Darksight.”</p><p>“My skills are somewhat wasted on sightseeing, considering everyone except you can do that much.”</p><p>Feonis makes an exaggerated noise of shock and places a hand over his chest. “It’s not my fault!”</p><p>“I wonder...” Belath sidles up behind him with a teasing tone of voice. Feonis huffs and walks past the group.</p><p>The streets are bustling with elves. Tall spires funnel the warm sunlight onto the already heated stone, you can see people resting in the shade under the glowing boughs of eversong trees, children splashing in the fountains, a warlock’s pet imp being chased across the busy street by a hunter’s springpaw. </p><p>“It’s like… the war never happened.” Belath breathes out shakily. Degolien takes a moment to look at the Illidari, really look at them, and he sees three terribly overwhelmed and lost young men. </p><p>“Do you want to look around first? There’s no specific appointment time.”</p><p>It’s quiet for a little while after he asks, he continues to lead them through the city and towards the Sunfury Spire anyway. He gets a response when they walk onto Murder Row, shaded and quieter as it is. </p><p>“There’s so many people… it hurts my eyes.” Feonis pipes up.</p><p>“We can continue the tour at nightfall, if you’d prefer.”</p><p>“Silvermoon never sleeps.” Belath replies wistfully, the corners of his mouth turning up. “But that might be a better idea. We’ll meet with the Regent Lord now if he’s free.”</p><p>—</p><p>Growling echoes down the halls of the Black Temple. You wouldn’t think such a noise could be produced from an elf, but the figure on all fours, claws sinking into the cold stone, is no longer really an elf. His tattoos glow bright enough to illuminate the walls, his hair fans out behind him, ragged and messy, his trousers are torn and so filthy that it’s visible on the black fabric.</p><p>A group of older Illidari stand opposite across the hall. No doubt more of them watch from the small windows of their rooms. This kind of commotion wasn’t uncommon, once or twice a hunter had succumbed to their demon and would’ve taken out more than just themselves if their master hadn’t intervened and killed them himself, the pain clear on his face. Thankfully most of the time it gets resolved with a talking down, for the ones inclined to hurting themselves in their paranoia and disgust, the more primally urged ones are trickier but can be brought back to themselves with a little constructive violence or gentle touch. Their master deals especially well with this kind, his immense presence calms the demon inside all of them. They’re all still figuring it out but the oldest begin to see patterns in the chaos.</p><p>The creature continues to growl at them. In every way he resembles the Felhound he’d consumed. Jace steps forward slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a feral young nightsaber. It’s important for the animal to understand your intent. Palms open and held in front, body low to the ground to make yourself as small as possible, and most importantly a clear mind. Animals can sense your stress and your fear. He laments for a moment that they have no demon flesh to further pacify the beast, but he’s tamed far more imposing creatures in his old life.<br/>He inches closer, slowly, slowly, on his knees. The beast hisses and Jace stops, holding his hands out further. The demon inside himself whispers at him incessantly. </p><p>‘Kill it, it’s weak.’</p><p>‘Devour its heart and bring its soul to your master, your true master.’</p><p>‘The Legion will reward your diligence.’</p><p>Jace does not move. The beast senses his inner turmoil and inches closer. He takes deep breaths, in and out, clearing his mind. Hundreds of years of discipline will not be undone by a demon, not while he still breathes. He makes a soft noise at the back of his throat, cooing softly in demonic the same way he would’ve done to owlbears in darnassian. It’s a grim mockery of how he used to live but he feels no remorse over it now, this beast in sin’dorei skin is his brother and Jace will do anything for his family. Old and new.</p><p>The beast, Feonis, hisses again, quieter this time. His dirty blonde hair drapes over his shoulders in a scraggy mess. Jace crawls closer until he catches a few wisps in gentle fingers, continuing to console his brother as he does so. Feonis’ noises begin to sound less like a wounded animal and more like an upset young boy, bitten off sobs and sniffing. His large hands take Feonis’ face fully into his grasp. </p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.” He whispers in demonic. “The Legion cannot give you what you want. We need you, brother.”</p><p>The sniffles devolve into open sobbing, though their eyes cannot produce tears, and then into full blown wailing. It’s not an unusual sound to hear but it moves their siblings every time, some of them joining in and some of them crowding around the poor elf with warm voices and touch. Jace takes him into his arms and cradles him as his siblings grasp at Feonis’ hands and lay comforting touches on his legs, as hands stroke through his hair and rub gently at his stubby horns. <br/>It’s a big messy family, but it’s his.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Illidan can’t help but find it endearing when his Illidari crowd around him to sleep. Little hisses and snaps as they find a spot to settle down on, across his arms, his legs, his chest. The way they subconsciously group up, some of them never straying from their preferred spots on him, some of them squabbling tiredly over the more ‘desirable’ parts of himself. Kayn, Belath, and Feonis all rest on his right shoulder today, he can feel Kayn’s horns nudge against his collarbone, the thickness of his skin blocking any real pain he should feel from it. Feonis is draped over Kayn’s side and his head rests on Illidan’s shoulder. Belath curls around his upper arm, one of his hands linked with Feonis’. Jace and Allari rest on his lower arm, tucked between his side and forearm. He knows Kor’vas and Asha will be resting together down near his hooves, perhaps joined by Izal or Tylos today.<br/>He sees his Illidari rest like this all around the temple, in little nooks and crannies that the broken and the naga could never hope to reach. Occasionally making a game out of scaring them as they cross beneath. Once Illidan himself settles down to rest however, they all come running. Clambering across his person in their carefully maintained little ritual, arguing over the same things, settling down in the same places, same positions. It’s almost mundane. He finds it amusing, if not a bit curious, how they all seem to possess a sixth sense for it. </p><p>It’s in these moments that he almost feels whole again. The open wounds left behind by his brother and Tyrande would never truly heal, he knows. The thousands of years spent imprisoned by the Wardens would not heal. The scars left by the Legion will not go away. He will never be who he used to be, and somewhere deep down he doesn’t even know if that’s what he wants anymore. For as long as the Legion stands he doesn’t have the right to a normal, happy life.<br/>But this… this is more than enough. It’s the kind of love he never realised he wanted or needed. </p><p>Kayn shifts slowly and rests his horns across Illidan’s neck in a manner that would have him forcibly removed were it not one of his beloved warriors, his head is placed in the nook between Illidan’s collarbone and neck. The movement causes Feonis to move as well, a small noise making its way out of the blood elf’s throat in protest as he clambers over Kayn’s body fully and drops between Illidan’s shoulder and Kayn’s chest, his small fluffy head tucked underneath Kayn’s chin. If Illidan’s hands were free and not pinned down by the weight of tiny, too thin elves, he would’ve moved one to stroke the pair’s hair carefully. Alas.</p><p>They’re like broken puzzle pieces, he thinks. All of them, including himself. Battered and jagged edged by Legion attacks, the colours faded and ripped, further shorn by their transformation into demon hunters. Yet the new clean cut edges all fit together in an impressionist mess, forming something unnatural yet beautiful. Something he’d never dreamed of having.<br/>It’s not the same as loving Tyrande. It’s not the same as thinking about his brother. Nor does it smother the want, the need, for them. It fills that space he didn’t know was there. He looks down at his Illidari and feels responsibility, worry, pride, and love. When he sees them love each other, love him, he feels happiness like he’s never known. <br/>They are all pulled to a higher calling, the destruction of the Legion, and he knows no matter what promises are offered and no matter what deals are attempted to be struck, this is what separates them from the demons. The desire to protect.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Belath being picked as one of the vaunted Dawnblade came as a shock to Feonis. Not because he didn’t know of his friend’s natural prowess in battle, but because it would be the first time in years they’d be separated. It was an honour you couldn’t refuse even if you wanted to. An elite force, answering directly to Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider… Feonis couldn’t be prouder for his friend. And yet…</p><p>“Are you gonna be okay?”</p><p>“I’ll be fine, we should be celebrating your promotion, not worrying about me.”</p><p>“Okay, fine, am I gonna be okay?!”</p><p>Feonis lets out a chuckle. “You’ll be fine as well you big baby. What would the Farstriders think if they saw you now, huh?”</p><p>“They’d think that it’s a lie probably.” Belath laughs along but it peters off quickly. He does his best kicked puppy face. “You’ll make some new friends right?”</p><p>“We might be a little old for phrasing it like that, but i’ll be perfectly okay, trust me.”</p><p>Belath huffs and leans his head on Feonis’ shoulder for a moment. “I’m leaving for Tempest Keep today. Well, soon actually.”</p><p>“Planning on showing up fashionably late to see the prince?” Feonis clicks his tongue. “Typical.”</p><p>“Oh well you know, I like to impress.” He winks back. “Are you being moved too?”</p><p>“Yeah, to Hellfire Citadel to serve under the Betrayer.” He exaggerates the last word in theatrical fashion.</p><p>“Scary… Have you seen him before? I did.” He takes his face off Feonis’ shoulder and his eyes light up. “The horns! They’re massive! All curly too, I bet one of us could easily sit on them and not fall off.”<br/>Feonis gives him an incredulous look but Belath carries on in his tirade.<br/>“And he’s got hooves! Like a horse! And a blindfold that you can see glowing light behind and HUGE claws and wings and he’s as tall as three or four of our kind and-”</p><p>“Okay, okay! Aren’t the kaldorei usually pretty big though?”</p><p>“Big doesn’t even COVER it!”</p><p>Feonis’ voice is tinted with skepticism. “If you say so...”</p><p>“I’m surprised the prince is sending more people over at all.”</p><p>“I don’t really care for the politics of it to be honest, but I assume it’s to replenish the ranks that were lost on the citadel assault itself.”</p><p>“Well, good luck with Mr. Betrayer. That title really doesn’t inspire confidence.”</p><p>“No, it doesn’t.”</p><p>—</p><p>When their small force, led by Kayn Sunfury, leaves the Netherstorm, they have to stop and rest for a while. The shock of leaving such a strong mana infused atmosphere is too much for their bodies to take. Feonis wasn’t very familiar with any of the elves in the group, but Kayn had approached him once before on this very topic. He suspects this is why Kayn is being ‘sent away’, whether he thinks it’s of his own free will or not. <br/>The subject of their mana addiction is a grim one. Feonis sees now that Kayn had not been lying, they were just too drunk on it to realise the truth. Kayn’s willpower must be legendary for him to have seen through the haze.<br/>Kael’thas had led them to their ‘promised land’ and in a way Feonis can’t even say that it couldn’t be called that, as inhospitable and infested with void creatures as it is. Mana wasn’t infused into the air, it was the air. The swirls and eddies of the Twisting Nether above their very heads. Life itself, above their very heads. Ripe for the taking. Every day they are bathed in mana from head to toe and even a layman like Feonis can tell it’s doing them no favours, but it feels so <i>good</i>. The hard years following Arthas’ attack are long gone, the clawing hunger is gone, the pain is gone. Just the euphoria remains.<br/>With the haze finally clearing he’s horrified to realise that he hadn’t even spared a thought for his people back home on Azeroth.</p><p>The nausea does not pass for him. The next time he regains full lucidity they are already in Hellfire Peninsula. There’s a body behind him, holding him in place on a mount. He recognises the gait as a hawkstrider’s.<br/>He wonders if they’d given up in the end and decided to implore the goblins to let them use their flight services.</p><p>Through blurry vision he sees Hellfire Citadel on the horizon. A horrific structure. Laden with gorish spikes and built with chilling black iron, it towers over the barren wastes of the Peninsula, it’s inky blacks the only colour breaking the monotony of orange, baked earth. The heat… is terribly unpleasant. <br/>He feels panic rising. What were they doing here? Why had Kael’thas led them to this torn planet? Were they to spend the rest of their days drunk on mana, barely able to comprehend what was happening around them? Living amongst the foul creatures that created this foul fortress?<br/>And this Illidan Stormrage, a kaldorei, was supposed to lead them now. Their prince had just given them away! <br/>If tears start to fall, they are not remarked upon. The hawkstrider slowly continues toward their destination.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He'd served under Captain Selin Fireheart for a time. A stern man. One of the higher ups you'd be stupid to mess around in the presence of, though to be fair that is the case for a great many of them. He'd taken well to the order to start siphoning magic from fel crystals. Most were hesitant but desperate. There had been desperation in Captain Fireheart's eyes when he obeyed that order, but Feonis clearly saw the hard set jaw of loyalty before anything else.<br/>Loyalty like that was becoming hard to come by in Outland. Something that reaches through the drunken haze and continues to serve regardless.</p>
<p>Feonis liked him despite his hardheaded nature, but Feonis is an easy man to please when it comes to other men.</p>
<p>The words come out blearily from a sin'dorei they'd met in Silvermoon upon their return. She'd sat hunched over a mug of cider and a plate of jerky, too buzzed to care about her company. Or maybe she recognised what the Illidari were. Old comrades.<br/>A list of the dead that they might’ve known. Feonis does not recognise any of the names but he feels muted sorrow in his companions.<br/>Selin Fireheart, slain at the Magister's Terrace. Something inside him stirs.</p>
<p>He doesn't remember, of course, but the ghost of someone inside him does. It thinks about cold nights in the Netherstorm. The steel in his eyes. Determination. Devotion. Whispered words across a midnight snack from one weary elf to another.</p>
<p>Against his better judgement, Feonis mourns a man he never knew.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>They are all haunted by the ghost of Kael'thas Sunstrider. Some more than others.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>Despite their tenuous welcome home to Quel'thalas, Feonis can't keep himself away. It feels like a faded painting. An everlasting yet forgotten memory. Brushes of familiarity paint across his subconscious haphazardly, missing all the important spots and leaving him with a strange feeling of wanting more, but being unable to attain it. He cannot see it's eternal spring, it's proud spires, but he feels its warmth all the same.</p>
<p>Despite this, he is drawn inexorably to the Ghostlands. The corruption speaks to him, whispers to him in lonely tones he can't ignore. The land is blighted. He doesn't need the vision of real eyes to see that the life is sapped from every blade of grass.<br/>In it, he sees himself.<br/>In it, he also sees a friendly face. Unexpectedly proffering him a fresh fruit, picked from across the border of death. A pomegranate. Held out with the gentle smile of one who understands suffering and exile. The man's mouth quirks in amusement as Feonis inspects it in his own peculiar way. A cautious sniff, a tentative lick, a bite, and finally the scrunching up of his face and seeds being spat out on the floor. The man laughs, but not unkindly.</p>
<p>"You can eat the seeds."</p>
<p>"Weird texture."</p>
<p>"No pomegranates then, I'll remember that for next time."</p>
<p>"Next time?"</p>
<p>"You'll be coming back right? We could use the help."</p>
<p>"You don't care that I'm a demon?"</p>
<p>"Anyone who can help us is welcome, I don't care who you are. Though I won't deny not everyone shares my thoughts."</p>
<p>"That's pretty clear. I'm used to it though."</p>
<p>"You shouldn't be. None of us should be."<br/>He pauses.<br/>"None of us should ever had to have been. We are all children of Quel'thalas. Even wayward sons like yourself have finally returned to us, we should be happy."</p>
<p>Feonis does not mention how he feels like a stranger, and yet somehow at home, but the thought stays with him.<br/>He returns to see Vandril the following week. And the one after that.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>It almost hurts, the way Lor'themar and Halduron look at him. He wonders if maybe he knew them once. He looks at their faces, really looks and takes time to concentrate his sight, and sees crippling guilt. Rommath is impossible to parse but one does not hide their emotions with such skill and not have something raw to hide.<br/>He wants to tell them it isn't their fault, it’s not Kael'thas' fault, it's not Illidan's fault. It's not anyone's fault. Everyone made the choices they felt were right in the circumstances. Noone can see the consequences of their actions.<br/>Yet, their guilt warms him still. They care. He does not remember them, but he cares too.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The storeroom of Manaforge Ara was perhaps not the best place to get stuck in during what passed for nighttime in the Netherstorm, but that was the way your luck simply went when you were up to no good with Belath. Feonis, long used to this, had perched himself high up on a crate of crystals. Kayn was not taking it so well.</p>
<p>"You could ruin us all with this!" He hissed.</p>
<p>Belath grins lazily and shrugs.</p>
<p>"You could at least have the sense to bring a mage, instead of you and your braindead ranger friend here."</p>
<p>"Hey, that's mean." Feonis pipes up.</p>
<p>"Well he's not wrong at least. A mage would've helped."</p>
<p>"Your brain must be the size of a pebble for you to think this only now."</p>
<p>"Ruuuuude man. Rude but true." Belath's mood isn't dampened an inch by Kayn's fury. It's not like they all haven't weathered it plenty of times by now.</p>
<p>Kayn huffs and starts to pace again. He'd been on and off with it ever since the door was locked behind them.<br/>"So we're stuck here."</p>
<p>"Yeah I guess so."</p>
<p>"And your plan is?"</p>
<p>Belath shrugs. "I dunno, hang out til morning I guess. I've slept in worse places."</p>
<p>"All this for a few extra crystals... You know this stuff isn't good for us. There's enough of it in the atmosphere here as is."</p>
<p>"Who died and made you the Prince?"</p>
<p>"Don't play sassy with me. This is serious."</p>
<p>Feonis glances between the two worriedly.</p>
<p>"This energy... It's doing something to us. Surely you can feel it."</p>
<p>"I can feel how good it is to finally be sated."</p>
<p>"That's true... I never want to starve like that again." Feonis pipes up.</p>
<p>"Yet those who overindulge turn into mindless wretches, you heard the report from Silvermoon."</p>
<p>A sore subject. It's not like the pair hadn't considered it. Their addiction had reared it's terrifying head in force and not one of them had known what to do to help. On one hand, feed it, nurture it, indulge in your natural desire and lose everything that made you who you are. Or suffer the agony of withdrawal. The endless hunger and biting pain that had already made some tip off the other side of the scales. Some had even killed themselves in a desperate bid for it all to end. The reports never stopped being grim.<br/>A balancing act, Prince Kael'thas had said. Siphon enough energy to get by, but always be haunted by the spectre of your ravenous hunger. There was no winning this fight.<br/>Yet here... in the Netherstorm, surrounded by the endless Twisting Nether, it was ever hard to resist. An impossible task.<br/>In a desperate bid to curb the pangs, Belath had turned to 'borrowing' a few crystals from the manaforge they guard. And in typical form, forgotten to factor in the time at which it's locked for the day.</p>
<p>"If only I'd arrived to haul you stupid morons out in time."</p>
<p>"Oh please, you only came for him." Belath gestures at Feonis. "You hate me."</p>
<p>Kayn squeezes the bridge of his nose. A resigned gesture. "I hate you both equally."  He pauses. "There's just still hope left for him, if he stopped hanging out with you."</p>
<p>"He grew up with me, he's not going anywhere buddy."</p>
<p>"I'm still here, you know."</p>
<p>"Shut up cheese boy, your parents are arguing."</p>
<p>Kayn looks like someone had slapped him in the face. The already chuckling Feonis bursts out into laughter, trying and failing miserably to contain it behind his hands. Luckily the walls of the manaforge are thick.<br/>"Well baby wants to go to sleep, so come be my pillow." He forces out when the laughter dies down to chuckles.</p>
<p>"Of course my dear."</p>
<p>"Not you, you're too bony Belath."</p>
<p>He gasps in mock offense.</p>
<p>"Your chest looks pretty comfy Kayn."</p>
<p>"I'm leaving."</p>
<p>"The door's locked!"</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>"Kayn."</p>
<p>No response.</p>
<p>"Kayn. Kayn."</p>
<p>"Shut up."</p>
<p>"No, I'm cold."</p>
<p>"Then come here and be quiet."</p>
<p>Feonis weaves his way across the small pillow covered room, flopping down next to Kayn and the ratty little blanket he'd bought with the few silvers he had in Dalaran. Such things were unneeded luxuries. Just like all the pillows and cushions, but some things were harder to give up, as a sin'dorei, than others.</p>
<p>"You're sad again."</p>
<p>"We're not doing this now."</p>
<p>He opens his mouth to reply... and closes it. There's never any use arguing with him. Nor does he want to. Instead he reaches out, fumbling for Kayn's face and using the leverage to aim his mouth onto his. A soft, chaste kiss, only a little off the mark.<br/>Kayn sighs, but it sounds weary more than annoyed. He brings a hand up to the back of Feonis' head and kisses him back properly. It's still a little awkward from the angle but he has no right to complain. He doesn't fight it when Kayn pulls back and fiddles with the blindfold tie at the back of his head, pulling the fabric away and revealing the felfire that burns in his sockets. It makes no difference to his own eyesight of course, but it feels intimate somehow. He reaches out to return the gesture and takes far longer to accomplish it, so long that Kayn bats his hands away with a theatrical sigh and removes it himself.<br/>Feonis can't help but smile. Ever stubborn and ever impatient, that's Kayn.</p>
<p>He can't truly see the felfire, and he can't feel it either. The wisps lick against his hardened thumbs ineffectually. But he does see the energy, this close up, a light in the darkness, dancing across his vision with the blob that forms the rest of Kayn's body.</p>
<p>"I care about you. A lot." Feonis brings their foreheads together.</p>
<p>"I'd make fun of you for being terrible with words if I didn't know I was the same."</p>
<p>"You're worse."</p>
<p>Kayn hums in response. They don't move for a while, taking in each other's presence and warmth. The grounding feeling of another person beside you. The scars on Kayn's cheek, the hard demonic skin covering their hands now, the warmer body temperature. It's almost enough to forget that there are truly four beings here. Not just two, intertwined and reluctant to speak their true feelings. There are two more, ostracised and brutally honest. But their whispers are quietened for a time.</p>
<p>He pulls back and kisses Kayn again. He shuffles around and drapes himself over the body next to him, pulling the awful, but at least thick, blanket over them both.<br/>They'll get through it, somehow.</p>
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